


Unspoken

by Laine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, F/F, F/M, One Shot, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 16:30:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20261110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laine/pseuds/Laine
Summary: A lady loves a knight. A knight loves a lady. One knight loves another knight.A tale of honor, selfishness, and unrequited affections.





	Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story for the (now-sadly-defunct) ASOIAF Kink Meme back in 2013, but never posted to AO3. So here it is, a few years late!

She opens the tent flap at the end of her watch, and although her eyelids grow heavy with exhaustion, although her muscles are tight and her bones weary, she feels a quickening in her heart as the orangey light of the dawn trickles through the opening and combs through Jaime’s hair. They camp in a peculiar crevice beneath a hot spring; in spite of the thick snow and ice outside, the warmth of the tent forces them to sleep in only their underclothes. Brienne can see the defined planes of Jaime’s chest glowing golden in the infant sunlight- she tries to swallow, to relieve the dryness of her throat, but to no avail.  
  
She itches to touch him, aches to touch him. And she has every reason to do it- it’s his time to take the watch, after all. But he looks so peaceful in his slumber, with the whisper of a smile drifting across his beautiful lips-  
  
Lady Sansa stirs at his side, the strap of her shift sliding down her milk-white shoulder. Brienne watches as Jaime gathers her close to him, his hand nestling between her breasts, his cheek pillowed in her rich red hair.   
  
He holds her as he would something precious, something valuable, something he desperately wishes to keep. Her heart pounds louder and louder as she watches his thumb brush over Sansa’s nipple- he murmurs into her hair, two hissing sounds- _her name, most like_.  
  
Brienne’s belly twists, and a stinging bile creeps into her throat as burning tears threaten to scald her eyeballs. She blinks them aside, wincing at the pain, and she turns her face into her fist, disguising her choked sobs as raspy coughs until the pair in the bedroll stretch and sigh and awaken.  


* * *

  
  
She hesitates when he opens his arms to her, and he tries to fight against the absurd affront that clenches his stomach. There is no reason for him to expect her trust- she reminds him of this regularly. It was Brienne, after all, who found her in the Vale, who swept her away from another unwanted marriage and forged this path northward. And it is Brienne to whom she goes for comfort, from whom she desires protection. Not him. Never him.  
  
But she turns in the bedroll and allows him to wrap his left arm around her waist and pull her close. And he cannot help it- a low groan escapes his throat when he breathes in her fragrance, her glorious, herbaceous, undefinable scent. He thinks just in time to tilt his hips back, lest she feel the hardness straining against his smallclothes.   
  
It’s been so long since he wanted like this- her softness, her firmness, the steel in her blue eyes, the fire in her thick hair...he longs to claim, to possess, to take all that she is and burrow it away inside.   
  
(_Free. I wanted to be free. You set me free._ That’s what she tells the wench when she places her tiny hand on Brienne’s freckled cheek, when she offers her lady knight a smile beautiful enough to make the gods weep...)  
  
She curls her knees inward, her bare shoulderblades pushing flush against his chest. And he cannot resist- he brushes her hair away from the nape of her neck and presses a lingering kiss to the bare flesh. He fills his nostrils with the sweet smell of her hair, he fills his palm with the exquisite weight of her breast, and he forces himself to ignore the way her muscles tense, the way she flinches from his touch.

* * *

“I have to take the watch, my lady.” Brienne’s eyes- her beautiful, clear, blue, blue eyes- shine with resolution as she straps Oathkeeper to her side and moves toward the entrance of the tent. “Ser Jaime is bathing in the springs- I’ll fetch him to keep you company until you sleep.”  
  
Her heart thumps against her breastbone, and she reaches out, closing her hands around Brienne’s firm bicep. “Can’t you stay with me, Brienne? Can Ser Jaime not take the first watch?”   
  
Brienne’s brows knit together- _she often looks at me so...does she know? Can she see?_\- and she closes her hand over Sansa’s, giving it a light squeeze before carefully prying the fingers away from her own arm. “No, my lady. He is far more tired than I...and you needn’t worry. He’ll keep you plenty warm.”  
  
(A sharp edge creeps into Brienne’s tone, and Sansa wants to scream in protest, to tell her that no, no, it isn’t like that, if she would only understand....)  
  
She still clutches the Maid of Tarth’s strong, capable hand- the woman begins to pull away, but Sansa grips tighter before dipping her head to brush a kiss across Brienne’s knuckles.   
  
“Be safe, my knight.”   
  
She hears the tremble in her own voice, and she knows from the sudden shadow in her companion’s eyes that Brienne hears it too.

* * *

It startles her, when Lady Sansa cups her cheek in a soft palm and kisses her on the mouth. In spite of the countless japes and jeers and rude remarks she’s heard over the years, Brienne has never considered such intimacy with another woman. And there is nothing _unpleasant_ about it, to be sure- Sansa takes care to be gentle and sweet, and her lips and tongue and hands are plenty capable. But still, nothing stirs between Brienne’s legs, nothing quivers in her belly, nothing quickens her pulse.   
  
She breaks the kiss and places her hands on Sansa’s shoulders. And she knows that light in the girl’s brilliant blue eyes...she knows the flush on her cheeks and the shy smile teasing at her lips. The idea of rebuffing Sansa’s affections and bringing her pain is too horrible for Brienne to bear- _and yet, wouldn’t it be crueler, wouldn’t it be more hurtful to make believe? _  
  
Some flimsy excuse tumbles from her lips as she begs leave of her lady. And when she turns to exit, she hopes beyond hope that Sansa will see her hasty retreat and her crimson cheeks as anything but the rejections they are. 

* * *

It startles him, when he places his hand on Brienne’s shoulder and feels the tremble of her muscles. Her freckled cheeks glow pink, and she keeps her gaze firmly riveted on her feet-  
  
But it’s not enough to conceal the truth, the truth that he sees clearly now.  
  
_Perhaps I owe it to her,_ he thinks, his hand still resting on her surcoat. _For all she’s done, for all she’s endured for me...Lannisters always pay their debts, and is this one really so much to ask? _  
  
If he thought less of her, it might be possible...but if nothing else, he has always been truthful with Brienne, and he cannot bear the idea of deceiving her, even to give her something she desires. If he were a different man, a cleverer man, a better man, he might love her as she loves him...  
  
But as it is, he can only squeeze her shoulder and rise from the bench, leaving her in peace to collect herself and carry on.

* * *

It startles her, when he slips his one good hand under the hem of her shift and strokes the vulnerable flesh of her belly. She cannot restrain a light sigh of exasperation- men are alike, every one, all after the same thing.   
  
Sansa's jaw sets as she waits for the inevitable downward slide of his fingers toward her smallclothes. But the moments pass, and he does nothing but stroke the pads of his fingers over the soft skin just below her navel. Back and forth and back and forth- the soothing rhythm touches something deep within her, and she feels a shiver course up her spine.   
  
His hand rests in place- he noticed it, too.  
  
She turns to face him, surprised by the twinge of sadness she feels when he pulls his hand away from her stomach. Those green, green Lannister eyes never seem any easier to encounter- she thinks sometimes that she’ll spend her life haunted by those reflections, by those memories. But she forces her stare to remain steadfast- she fears what she might find, but she searches all the same.  
  
And it is there, blatant and undeniable: hunger and desire, yes, but something deeper and gentler and _purer_ as well...  
  
She cups his bearded face between her little hands and draws closer, closer-  
  
She kisses him because he wants it. Because she is starved for love, and if she cannot have her own returned to her- _she keeps away from me now, how disgusting she must think me_\- then she will take whatever is on offer.  
  
Perhaps she ought to discourage Jaime’s ardent advances...perhaps it is unfair and unkind to feign this response-  
  
But she made no promises, she took no vows. She has never claimed honor for her own, and she sees no reason to begin now.


End file.
